Own Me
by applythepressure
Summary: But he does and she is and she knows it and hates it and no matter how many times she touches herself or Travis, she hates that it is not him, that it should be him, but she is too stubborn and she will rather break her heart than wound her pride.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Fully sated by turkey and the fifth chapter of _Hot For Teacher_, I have another short story – it will be longer than a one-shot, but probably not more than three chapters. It will be canon (gasp, I know, I have loved my AUs recently) – Tate fucked up (literally) and Violet has not forgiven him despite still loving him. Angst time!

_**Own Me**_

Fucking Travis was not nearly as satisfying as she thought it would be.

She cornered him in the gazebo, all awkward teenager hormones and skinny hip bones, and somehow enticed him up the stairs and into her room, not giving a shit about the obvious trail of clothes down the hallway and the very real consequence of that sending _him_ into a whirlwind of pitiful self-destruction.

Now she was caught up in the delicious way his tongue was swirling around her clit, not caring that he was probably there, watching them with tears coming down his cheeks, because the only thing worse than watching them was not watching them and for what he lacked in empathy, he made up for in vivid imagination.

The sad thing, she thought as Travis switched to fingering her, was that he wasn't immune to his own manipulation.

And even sadder, she thought as Travis slid inside her, hot and hard and smooth, was that he was a slave to his emotions, especially when it came to her, and while his anger could embolden him to kill, his remorse could relegate him to a sniveling, whining, pathetic shell of the person she had fallen in love with.

What a waste.

She could feel Travis coming inside her, sticky streams dripping out of her and onto her newly laundered sheets as she pushed him off her as soon as he was done.

"But wait, you didn't –"

"It's fine. Just go."

Travis, as dumb as he was, could tell he was no longer wanted and discreetly left the room after hastily putting on his pants.

She just laid there, naked as the day she was born and the day she lost her virginity to someone she now wasn't sure deserved it, Travis's come still leaking out and she hoped he was seeing her. She hoped that he knew that he was the one who drove her to this, even though she couldn't really define what "this" was, only that she didn't like it.

"He didn't make you come."

She didn't sit up to look at him because she already knew what he would look like, had it practically painted on the undersides of her eyelids – ripped jeans even more frayed due to his incessant picking, worn Converse that sometimes squeak when he walks, musty sweater over a T-shirt proclaiming his love for Nirvana, earnest, deep, hypnotizing eyes red with unshed tears, and soft blond hair falling into them.

"There he is, the guest of honor. Tell me, did you enjoy the show? You probably had the best seat in the house."

"He didn't make you come."

"How would you have known if he didn't blab it out loud?"

"Your breath didn't hitch the way it did with me. And your fingers would always dig into my back when you were close, but you didn't even touch him."

Silence.

"Get out."

She made sure he was gone before she started crying.

* * *

She was busy smoking a cigarette, a gift from Constance when she decided for a day to have a shred of a heart. She could hear the porch creaking as someone walked down to sit next to her, but she didn't have the energy to turn to see who it was and just kept blowing clouds of smoke into the frigid morning air.

"Violet, you know that's not good for you."

"It won't kill me."

Vivien placed her hand on Violet's knee.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"How did you know you loved Dad?"

Vivien sighed a deep sigh, one that was weighed down with tiredness and sorrow and as much as Violet sometimes hated her mother – for her weakness, for her choice to stay with her shithead of a dad who cheated and lied and still did, and sometimes, though she would never admit it, for screwing over her chance of happiness with Tate because it takes two to tango and as much as it was Tate's fault, some shameful, selfish part of her blamed her mother – she still didn't like seeing her in pain.

"Love is a crazy thing, Violet. It defies description. People say you just know. I just knew, as stupid as that sounds. He was the person I wanted to spend my morning coffee with. He was the person I wanted to go to sleep next to every night. I married him because he wanted the same thing. Even though we have had our ups and downs, he is still the first one I want to tell my fears and hopes and dreams to. That's why I stay."

"Even though he hurts you?"

"Yes. Because in the end, nobody is perfect. Everyone has flaws, some more so than others. We just happened to pick ones that are riddled with them."

* * *

"Miss Violet, can you hand that rag over there?"

"Sure, Moira, hold on."

She was helping Moira clean because the twins had somehow obtained a stink bomb and thought it would be a great idea to detonate it in the kitchen. Unluckily for them, Moira is not above her own forms of torture and depravity – they were currently scraping off the rotten pieces of raccoon flesh that got splattered on the basement walls during Thaddeus's last meal.

"I'll help."

She turned to face him, all sincere and hopeful, and she wanted to scream, but instead kept resolutely silent as Moira handed him a bucket of soapy water.

"You can clean the floor with Violet."

She wanted to simultaneously slit Moira's throat and disappear into the basement, but her pride would never let her and instead she settled to pressing her mouth into a thin line.

He got down on his hands and knees right next to her and started scrubbing and his shoulders kept banging into hers and Violet couldn't handle it.

She scrubbed until her hands were raw.

"Violet…"

She didn't answer and he seemed to give up, leaving them cleaning the tiles until the sun went down and they were spotless white, gleaming and pure and such a contrast to every member of the house.

She got up to throw away her rag, but his arm suddenly yanked her back to the floor and she yelped in surprise and indignation.

"What the fuck –"

"You can't do this, Violet."

"Again, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can't keep pushing me away."

"And you think you can tell me what to do?! You don't own me. I'm not yours."

But he does and she is and she knows it and hates it and no matter how many times she fucks herself or Travis, she hates that it is not him, that it should be him, but she is too stubborn and she will rather break her heart than wound her pride.

"Yes you are."

She smacked him across the face, the resounding echo fading through the kitchen.

"You're mine because I know you were thinking about me when you were fucking Travis."

Her mouth curled into a malevolent sneer. So that's how he wants to play it. He thinks he has the upper hand, but Violet always knew just what to say to cut someone down to size and he was no exception.

"You want me to deny it just so you can list all the evidence you think you've gathered from stalking me day and night. But you know what, Tate? Maybe I was thinking about you. Actually, no, I was. But I was thinking about how pathetic it was that you were watching."

She leaned in close and smirked in sick pleasure when he let out a small moan at their proximity.

"I was yours and I wanted to always be yours. But you lost me. You will never have me again and you have no one to blame but yourself."

She got up and tried not to hear his soft sobs as she walked away, eventually climbing into her bed and wishing she didn't want him there.

* * *

A/N: She still loves him even though she is fighting it! Reviews make me happy!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So graduate school has been a real piece of work. I had 14 students plagiarize and/or cheat in the last two weeks. So yeah, I was not in the mood. But I'm back now with the next installment of _**Own Me**_. Canon goodies on the way!

And I want to give a shoutout to missmaggiemaybe, who wrote me a very touching and beautiful note about how my stories inspired her to write her own. I'm flattered and humbled.

And of course, I must give a huge thank you to jandjsalmon for organizing the third AHS fic exchange and helping me out with my real life angst.

So just a note – _**Own Me**_ is a lot like _**Oh, How It Burns**_ in that it is a series of short scenes that may or may not go together. Violet is struggling a lot here, so she flip flops a lot between hating and loving Tate.

_**Own Me**_

"I'm sorry."

"You really need to stop saying that."

She was smoking on her bed, lips curled into a perfect O as she puffed out gray rings of carcinogens into the still, hot air. She hoped the shape of her lips made him think of when she would suck him off, and she did once or twice, and she liked the way she could make him fucking lose it even worse than the morning he shoved some rounds into his unsuspecting classmates. But instead of him losing his mind in blood and gore and horror, as seductive as those things are to people like him – and like her, though she would not admit it to anyone – she made him lose it in pleasure, forced him to give up control by tonguing and teasing the sensitive underside of his dick until he forced himself even further down her throat, and that was immensely satisfying.

"But I am."

"No, you're not."

She sat up so that she could face him. He was standing in her doorway, looking lost and forlorn and she just wanted to smack him.

"You're sorry you got caught."

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow at him before turning her attention back to his cigarette. She wanted to char his skin with it so she could kiss it better. Maybe that way she wouldn't feel as bad letting his arms curl around her once more.

"At least you're not lying now."

"But I'm even sorrier that I did anything to catch in the first place."

"Are you?"

"I am."

She shuddered when he said that because it feel like he meant it, she could literally feel the sincerity behind the words, and she so desperately wanted to believe it, take it at face value like she could with most people, but he is a psychopath and she watched enough crime shows to know that this is how they catch you and lure you into their web of horror.

"I don't know if I believe you."

"I give you my word. I give my life, Violet. I truly am."

"Words mean nothing. Yours mean even less."

He punched the wall, making her flinch, but she kept pushing because she wanted to see how far he would go for her, if it would be as far as she would go for him. Because as much as she fucking hates herself for it, she still wants him and everything they had before a rubber suit and little white pills ruined everything.

"Do you love me?"

"With every fiber of my being."

"Prove it."

"How?"

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to."

The truth is, she didn't know the answer, she didn't know if there was even an answer, never mind if there were right and wrong ones.

* * *

She was watching the devil child play with Constance next door even though seeing him makes her sick.

He is so like his father – she blanched at the thought because it disgusts and saddens her that it is the truth and no amount of wishing will make it any different – with his blond hair and eyes that tears through a person's defenses like a knife through butter or better yet, warm flesh. And there she stands at the window, simultaneously hating that little boy who ruined her happiness and wanting to know him better just to see if it's really like father, like son.

And he appears next to her, as always, because he can't fucking leave her alone with her thoughts for more than five minutes. Her irritation manifests itself in a huffed sigh.

"Why do you watch?"

"To remind myself."

To remind myself when I am at my breaking point and want nothing more than your kisses everywhere, your strong arms that have killed for me wrapped around me, your mouth which has said hurtful and heinous things whispering how much you love fucking me and making me cry out your name – how much you love me and my confidence and courage and light – why I cannot and should not go back to you.

"Wouldn't it be better to forget?"

She whips around, startled at the implications in his sentence.

"And what? Become like Maria? Like Nora? With no sense of reality? Never."

"Ignorance is bliss. Whoever said that did have a point, you know."

She reaches up to pull a stray thread off his sweater, and she knows he is reading too much into this small, sweet gesture – but then again, why is she doing it if she didn't also hope for the same things he did, why would she do it if she wasn't trying to recreate, even for an instant in the eternity they were condemned to in this godforsaken house, what they had? – so she puts a stop to it.

"Maybe he didn't have such a heavy price to pay for it."

* * *

His first answer to her challenge came a few days later when he killed Hayden for her.

Her dad's bitch was screaming at her for no reason and suddenly lunged at her. Violet had had her fair share of fights at school, but unfortunately Hayden converted her crazy into strength – and she had a lot of crazy – and before she knew it, Hayden had dragged her by the hair to the top of the stairs. In the few seconds she knew she had before being pushed down and succumbing to death again, she closed her eyes – maybe in fear, maybe in relief that she would finally get a respite from this hell – and gathered herself to get ready for the pain.

But no pain came.

"Do not touch her ever again. She's mine."

And Tate pushed Hayden violently down, down, down and Violet could hear her bones breaking in some macabre orchestra of creaks and snaps, her arm, her leg, and then finally, the grand finale, her neck, snapped clean and pretty to the side at the very bottom of the stairs.

She felt him pick her up bridal style and carry her to her room. She allowed herself to curl into his chest ever so slightly before he laid her on her bed.

He searched her eyes earnestly with his own, trying to see if she was hurt and she wanted to tell him that he hurts her more every day than Hayden could in a lifetime. Because she hates and loves him at the same time, and it feels like her heart is being pulled in opposite directions, like a tug of war, neither side refusing to give until the rope – the sinews of her heart – breaks from the stress. She feels like she is bipolar, on a nonstop rollercoaster of emotion, ping-ponging from love to hate, black to white, and it's so confusing how she can hate him one moment and want and love him the next.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

Did killing Hayden to save her prove to her that he loved her? Or did it just prove that he still had as little regard for life – though she hesitated to call what they had life – as he did when he pulled the trigger on all those kids?

She didn't know.

* * *

She was telling a story to Lorraine's little girls on the couch because she somehow got roped into it as she was making her way to the kitchen for a nice evening margarita. She drinks, no more than anyone else in the house, and she figures her parents can't really tell her that it will cause brain damage because well, she is frozen and already dead.

"Tell us a story, Violet!"

"Oh, please, Violet!"

She sighed.

"Can you wait for Travis to come back?"

Their faces fell a little.

"We don't know where he is."

Violet had a pretty good guess, but she wasn't about to tell them that he was probably fucking Constance in the basement since she comes over for his dick whenever she can't get any live ones.

"Okay, fine."

She plopped down on the couch while they settled around her feet. She looked up to see Tate in the doorway, watching her silently. She pursed her lips, a little annoyed that he was here to distract her. He had saved her from Hayden two days ago and she hadn't had time to sort out how she felt and whether or not she should feel that way or any way in particular and having him watch her with so much longing was wreaking havoc on her nerves.

"What type of story would you like?"

"Tell us one about you."

"My life was pretty boring, but alright."

She sank back into the couch and closed her eyes, Tate's face scorching the inside of her eyelids.

"One day a boy who liked me took me to the beach. He said it was his favorite place and that he wanted to share it with me because I was that special to him. So he took me there, and we walked with our feet in the surf. He found me a pretty shell, which was pink in the inside and white on the outside, and told me that it was like me – perfect, smooth, and unique. We built a fire and sat by it, watching the flames dance in the cool night air."

She looked at him and his eyes bore holes into hers.

"It was the best night of my life."

The girls followed her gaze and gave a little yelp when they saw Tate since they were afraid of him. They disappeared to find their mother with a hasty thanks to her, to which she replied with only an absentminded nod.

He walked towards her and she felt like all the air was sucked out of the room.

"Did you mean it?"

God, the ache in his voice was always too much and she wanted to cry and run away and break things.

"Did you, Vi?"

She couldn't lie, not to those eyes that still held her heart, body, and soul.

"Yes."

* * *

A/N: Reviews make me happy!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: WOW! You all are so, so nice to me! I am so flattered and excited that you love my portrayal of Violet and Tate. So here is another chapter!

_**Own Me**_

"Yes."

He caressed her cheek so tenderly it almost broke her, but she is nothing if not strong and the only crack in her armor was a single tear running down her face, but he only needs one tiny weakness with her, the bastard, and he exploits it because she knows he wants answers, needs a shred of hope to keep going in this house stuffed full of misery.

"So you don't regret us?"

How can I, even with all my pain? How can I, knowing how you touched me and held me and looked at me like I was the most extraordinary person you had ever met? How can I forget that you saved me from those robbers and tried to save me from myself?

"No."

She looked up at him and she was overwhelmed because how can a psychopath, a murderer and a rapist, show such a kaleidoscope of emotions in his eyes when he is supposed to feel none at all? Are they real? She so badly wants them to be, but she knows wanting something, no matter how earnestly and deeply, does not make it reality. Her mother's rape and murder is Exhibit A.

"Do you regret me?"

"Isn't that the same?

"No, it isn't."

She knows what he means. He means that she doesn't regret the experience of such love but that she regrets this love – such a beautiful, intimate, unique, once-in-a-lifetime love, the kind that girls dream about and that fairytales are made of – happened with him.

She goes on her tiptoes and just barely brushes her mouth against his, and the same heat, the same electricity, sparks through her entire body and it was just like it was before she knew he was dead, before she knew he killed teenagers and boyfriends, before she knew he raped her mom, where all she wanted was to swap spit and secrets with this handsome, hell raiser of a patient because he was dangerous and different, making her dripping wet and crying out his name softly when she touched herself at night.

"No."

She disappeared before he could kiss her back like they both so desperately wanted.

* * *

She was sitting in the backyard gazebo, a depressing Russian novel in one hand and a nice glass of wine in the other, when his second answer to her challenge came.

"Hi."

She whipped around to see the devil child right outside the front steps of the gazebo with a dead squirrel hanging limply in his hands. She could tell that he had snapped its neck and had started dissecting it since she could see some of its small intestines trailing out of a somewhat empty stomach cavity.

"Hi."

She was immediately hit with a wave of nausea not because of the obvious torture that this demon had done to an innocent creature, not that this didn't bother her, but because his hair was falling into his eyes just the way Tate's would after they had sex and were just lying in each other's arms as he would tell her stories of faraway places he always wanted to visit and that he would bring her with him to a private island in the Caribbean, a cathedral in Italy, an old haunted ruin in Scotland, and everywhere she wanted because he loved the way her eyes would light up when she was happy and he wanted to be the cause of that.

"Did you know that you can tell how much oxygen is in the blood by how red it is?"

"No, I didn't." She prayed that her face showed nothing but mere indifference, maybe mild curiosity for the sake of humoring a child's fancy, when her body felt a car crash of emotions, of horror, sadness, and fear.

"Yeah, if the blood is really bright red, that means it has a lot of oxygen in it since it is coming straight from the heart."

"Interesting."

"Grandma was really mad when I got blood on her carpet. I just wanted to see if its blood is bright red like our maid's was."

Before Violet could ask him what he meant, though she had a sneaking suspicion she did know what he meant and really did not want to dwell on it, he was suddenly right in front of her and the smell of flesh almost made her vomit.

"Do you want to see how to skin it?"

"Not in particular."

"Please?"

But she knew it wasn't a request, it was an order, and she knew because she saw him fingering the blade lovingly while giving her a knowing look and she knew, she just knew he wanted to skin her instead and see how bright red her blood was.

She stepped back from him and ran into a hard, achingly familiar chest, and breathed a quiet, thankful sigh of relief.

"Michael, go away."

"Hi, dad."

She stiffened and tried to mask her involuntary reaction of disgust. He knew? How could he? Did he know the circumstances surrounding his unholy birth?

"I'm not your father."

"You are, though, aren't you? You're Tate. Grandma talks about you all the time. She told me you are my father."

"It doesn't matter if I am or not. Stay away from me. Stay away from her."

"What if I don't want to?"

She saw him look down at the blade and back up at her with a smirk so like Tate's, just like the one she saw on his face before she turned off the lights on Leah in the basement, just like the one she imagined was on his face what he fucked up those robbers who wanted to kill her and her mom, that she sucked down a sharp breath, which both of them heard, eliciting a deadly grin from one and a strong hand on her arm from the other.

"I will kill you."

"No, you won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You're my father."

And suddenly Tate was eye level with the devil child and she could hear the chill in his voice, and she, for once, was glad to hear it.

"Even if I am your father, you are not my son. Bother her again and I will hurt you. Threaten her again and I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?"

For the first time, she saw a flicker of fear in the devil child's eyes as he nodded slowly.

"Now leave."

The devil child nodded again and walked back to Constance's yard, dragging the squirrel behind him and making a bloody slash in the yard.

He turned back to her and the concern and love in his eyes was so palpable she just wanted to collapse into his arms and kiss him until she had purged all the poison and pain and guilt out through their heat.

"Are you okay, Vi? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine."

But she is not fine, she is not fine with the devil child or with him or with anything at all, and Tate still pulls her into a hug despite her reluctance because she knows that she is not supposed to be hugging him, and the warmth of his embrace and the gentle kiss he placed on top of her head make her ache in all the ways a body and heart could ache.

Because he just showed her that he would pick her above his own son, and even though their familial relationship was not great or normal by any means, blood is thicker than water and a part of her was afraid that he would feel some connection to his offspring, would feel obligated to protect him even though he was one of the main reasons he had lost her in the first place.

"I swear, Vi, if he did –"

She put her finger to his lips to silence him because she did not need or want to hear what he had to say.

"Just hold me, for a little while."

Until I have to remember why I need to hate you, why I can't be with you, why I tear myself to shreds in the battle between my hate and love, and honestly, I can't tell you what is going to win.

"If that's what you want."

"Yes." It's what I want. It's what I need. It's what I yearn for every day and dream of every night.

"Then as always, since the moment I first saw you, until the end of the world, I am utterly yours to command."

As his arms encircled her, she cried.

* * *

A/N: Reviews make me happy.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: So I lied when I said _**Own Me**_ would not be more than three chapters. Sue me. And I broke my foot because I'm a hot mess. Who's a winner?

_**Own Me**_

She was watching a movie about a haunted house because she had a sick sense of humor and just couldn't ignore the irony. Plus she took pleasure in laughing at how the producers portrayed the ghosts because they had them all wrong, so wrong, just tiny wisps of things that couldn't do anything more than knock over a plate or two when real ghosts, ghosts like them, could kill and maim so easily.

"What are you watching?"

She turned to see Chad in the doorway swirling a glass of wine, looking over at her in a peculiar way, as if she was an interesting freak in a traveling circus show, intriguing yet disgusting in the same breath.

"Some dumb movie because I'm bored. What do you want?"

"Well, considering my boyfriend has decided to fuck everyone in this house except me, I want company, and apparently that need has grown badly enough that I will search out yours even knowing my little murderer is lurking nearby."

He plopped down next to her and a little bit of wine sloshed over the side onto his pants, but he didn't seem to care as his attention was immediately directed to the screen where some stupid, towhead frat boy in a muscle shirt was getting terrorized by the ghost of a girl he accidentally killed way back at the beginning of the movie.

"Oh, who is that hot piece of ass? He would certainly make my panties wet if I were a girl like you."

She sighed heavily, wishing that Tate was not around to listen to Chad's snarky commentary, but the slight ripple she saw in the air made it very clear that he was around and he had most definitely heard.

"He's not your type and he is certainly not mine."

He turned and smirked at her, and she knew this was going nowhere good.

"I forgot, you go for blond psychopath murderers." He pointed at the screen. "But this guy should be right up your alley. Blond, hot, and a murderer. Uh oh, looks like our own resident Norman Bates has some competition."

She could feel Tate literally vibrate with rage and jealousy, making the air by the fire place like a shimmering mirage, and she just knew he was this close to snapping and as much as she hated to admit it, the thought of him breaking Chad's neck and taking her next to his dead body while savagely hissing that he will be the only hot blond murderer who she will ever think about that way and how no one would ever fuck her like he will, made her clench her thighs together.

"Stop it, Chad. It's not funny."

He raised an eyebrow at her before glancing over at the fire place and jerking his head right at the spot she knew he was.

"What's not funny? The fact that he is literally ready to kill me yet again or the fact that you will be running back to him sooner rather than later? Face it, Violet. You are still in love with the little shithead. You always will be. Your young, tragic love makes me barf."

She sucked in a sharp breath, not daring to look at where Tate was, because she knew he would be both quivering in anger over Chad's insults to her and holding his breath in fear and hope over her answer. She could picture what his eyes would look like in that moment, swirling darkness tainted with murder and blood, shot through with slivers of agonizing hope and desire and longing, wanting, wanting, always wanting.

"You don't know anything about me."

He got up and sauntered towards the kitchen before turning back around to face at her.

"Oh, honey, I know everything about you. Because you're me and I'm you, in many more ways than you'd think or care to admit. I hate you for reminding me of that, and I hate you even more because you still have a chance but you're too stubborn to take it. I'd turn into a murderer if that meant I'd have another chance with Patrick. But you would rather suffer like an arrogant martyr, denying yourself happiness for some reason I can't fathom, than be selfish for one fucking time in your life and just take what you want."

"My family –"

"Oh, come off it, Violet, you didn't give a shit about them when you were alive. Please don't tell me that's the best you've got."

She just glared at him in silence before he chuckled lightly, holding the glass up so it caught the dying rays of the sunset and made rainbows on the walls.

"You're just afraid of being hurt again. We all get hurt, sunshine, comes with the territory. What makes people special is when you try and trust again even after being hurt. Do us all a favor, stop your pathetic moping and think about it."

Her throw pillow just missed him as he disappeared around the corner.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Just thinking."

He sat down next to her on the blanket she brought out. It was a warm day, so she wanted to take advantage of it and be lazy in the yard, watching the flowers sway in the breeze and the ants march in their little army lines so she could pretend that she was just a teenager, albeit an atypical one, in the grass, concerned only about the next hour at most, instead of a dead ghost trapped in a place where good memories were few and the future held nothing.

"What about?"

"How my life would be if I didn't die."

"Oh."

"I think I would have gone to college, majored in art history or something like that, and work in the city in a studio apartment overlooking the water, maybe making some art on the side. I probably would have gotten a ferret or something for a pet, name him an unusual name like Walter. I think I would have been happy if I had a life like that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She lay back down on the blanket, the fibers soft on her bare arms, and she could hear him lay down beside her and she was acutely aware of how close he was, how it only would take a split second for her to lean over and kiss him, how easy it would be to undress him – because he would let her, eagerly and excitedly, because even though he was a boy with raging hormones, he knew if he touched any other woman in the house she would never come back, so he had contented himself with just his hand for a commendable amount of time and the prospect of having her finally touching his naked body again would be unable to resist – so she could see what she had been increasingly and desperately missing for a long, long time.

A white butterfly bespeckled with black dots landed between her hand and his, and she couldn't help but think about how white paradoxically can mean both mourning and new beginnings, about how you cannot appreciate the purity of white without the presence of black, how good cannot exist without evil, how sometimes you cannot fully separate out the black and white, the good and evil, and how they make such a beautiful, soft shade of grey, and how all these musings somehow sum up her and him and them together.

When he reached out to try to hold her hand, she let him.

* * *

A/N: Short, I know, but I'm working on the next chapter and I have my fic exchange to work on too! Reviews make me happy!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: And I'm finally back. I was working on my exchange fic – and we all should give mad props and hugs to jandjsalmon for being an awesome mod as well as to all the authors who put their sweat, blood, and tears into their stories for all of us – and I was going through a bit of a rough patch with my moods. Basically I was bored out of my mind since I had no lab work and when I am not occupied, my brain loves to torture me with negative thoughts, so I was upset and so anxious that I couldn't do much.

_**Own Me**_

"Checkmate."

"God damn it."

They were playing chess, rather he was teaching her how to play chess and was smugly enjoying kicking her ass in the process. She should have seen it coming, since she loves gloating over him when she wins at blackjack and takes the rest of his stash of cigarettes. He looks up at her to see her pout, and he sweeps the board and scatters the pieces everywhere. She chuckles at his childish move because she knows he did it because he hates seeing her upset, even over little things like a game.

"Wanna play again?"

His voice is so soft in his questioning, and what Chad said has been torturing her brain for days now.

"No."

But she doesn't say it meanly so he knows it's not because she is a sore loser.

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Let's play hide-and-seek."

"Okay."

She scoots a little closer to him, and she smiles a little when his breath hitches.

"Here are the rules. You have five minutes to find me. All of the grounds is fair game. We both can warp or beam, or whatever jumping from place to place is called here. If you catch me, I owe you one request."

"Anything?"

She couldn't help but fall into the look he gave her, and she knows that she is doing what Chad told her too, in a cowardly way. She just doesn't think she would be able to in the way Chad implied, which would be to put on her one skintight dress, kidnap him, maybe give him a few bruises for being an asshole, then lock him up and fuck him stupid for a week. She would have to do it her way, which would make her feel at least less guilty, and help begin to soothe the ache between her legs.

"Don't get too many ideas."

He smirked at her and her stomach fluttered.

"Let's play."

"Catch me if you can."

She winked out of existence, appearing in the gazebo. She crouched behind the banister, watching the windows for any sign of movement. Suddenly she saw him in the attic window looking down at her, and she let out a yelp before she materialized in the living room.

She ran behind the couch, listening as he ran down the stairs. She knew he would be in tune with her spirit energy, which was going to make this game harder, but she always loved a challenge.

As soon as he stepped into the living room, she disappeared and reappeared in their bedroom, shutting herself in the closet. She had barely gotten the closet door closed because he whipped the bedroom one open, and she muttered a "shit" under her breath as she quickly retreated to the attic.

Just she was about to run towards an old chest, a strong hand wrapped her wrist and pulled her into an equally strong chest.

"Gotcha."

She huffed softly. Suddenly his mouth was right by her ear and she shivered.

"That was only three minutes."

She leaned up so that her mouth was right his ear, mirroring his position.

"So it was. What is your request?"

The sexual tension was palpable and it took all her willpower not to push her hips against him.

"I will think on it."

The temptation to stay in his arms was overwhelming, but she pushed him away because being so close to him was making it hard to think. She didn't miss the fleeting look of hurt and longing as she did so, but she gave a wide grin and pretended to look down at her wrist and tap her imaginary watch, and he started smiling again.

"Now it's my turn."

* * *

She was in the basement, visiting her grave, actually, when his third answer to her challenge came.

She usually did not like to come to the basement, too many horrible things lurk there, like Charles with his ether habit and rusty knives covered in more than just blood and Nora with her incessant wailing for a baby. She shuddered as she thought of Thaddeus, the baby they both have forgotten about because they probably wanted to, because they just couldn't get past the deer hooves and razor teeth, couldn't bear to think that this perversion of nature was really the product of their union in love, or at least in mutual matrimonial duty. She hadn't seen him in a while, but no length of time would ever make her forget what he did to Leah. Those large gaping gashes down her cheek at first seemed the worst of it, but now she knew that the fear in her eyes and the white in her hair later were the most scarring.

She crawled into the space, expecting just to see her pile of bones, but instead saw the same horror she was just musing on gnawing on her femur. Before she could reason with herself that as much as she was suddenly upset at the desecration of her resting place, calling attention to herself would be unwise, she let out a sharp cry, which alerted him to her presence. Since he couldn't resist the call of fresh meat, he leapt forward towards her, teeth bared and jaw open.

She was so stunned she couldn't utter the words she knew she needed to. It was as if everything was in slow motion, so she could see every detail of Thaddeus, from the piss stains and blood splatters on his soiled nightgown to the shards of bones – her bones – in his jagged smile, as he came flying at her and everything from that day with Leah came flooding back.

Her somehow getting thrown to the floor, whether it was him or Tate or Leah she would never know.

Him reaching out to her, like a perverted God and Adam of the Sistine Chapel, only this time it was the Devil and Eve, or Mephistopheles and Faust, someone both scared yet intrigued by darkness and the source of darkness face-to-face, and she didn't know if the rush she felt was due to fear or excitement or a heady, seductive combination of both.

Tate turning on the lights and everything going back to normal, only this time there are no lights this far deep in the house, and she knows normalcy was shot to hell a long way back.

So she braced her arms above her face, and just hoped he would kill her instantly so she wouldn't have to feel him making a snack out of her spleen.

"Violet! Watch out!"

Tate rushed in front of her as she uncovered her face, and she looked on in horror as Tate caught Thaddeus in a big bear hug and both of them tumbled to the floor.

She finally snapped out of it when she saw, and worse, heard, Thaddeus take a huge bite out of Tate's chest and Tate's resounding cry of pain, sharp in her brain, kicking her back online like a frustrated 9-to-5-er would slap a computer in the throes of the blue screen of death.

"Thaddeus, go away!"

He disappeared instantly, and she rushed to Tate's side, not caring that she was supposed to hate him, not caring that he had done a lot worse to many other people. She knelt down, frantic that he could be bleeding out, but she couldn't tell in the darkness, shit, shit, Tate –

"I'm okay, Vi."

He weakly placed his hand on her arm while her trembling hands were trying to rip his shirt off to see the wound, and she just exploded because she felt so weak for freezing, again, and so guilty because her fear triggered his fucking white-knight-on-a-horse complex and got him hurt.

"No, you're not fucking okay! You were almost his lunch!"

She hated herself even more when she felt the tears rolling down her face.

"Don't cry, Vi."

"I'm not crying."

"Yes, you are. It's alright, Vi."

"No, it's not! I have to get you out of here."

She gathered him in her arms and materialized them to their bedroom, quickly laying him on the bed before taking his shirt off. She hissed when she saw the bite marks, which were many, but thankfully were not deep.

"Stay here. I'll be right back."

She quickly warped to the bathroom to gather up some cotton balls, bandages, and hydrogen peroxide. Once she got back, she started wetting the cotton balls.

"Okay, this is going to sting, but I don't want it getting infected and you dying of blood poisoning or some other freaky medical shit."

His low groan at the first contact was so filled with pain that she instinctively reached out and gripped his hand tightly as she started crying again at the mess of his chest that was her fault.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tate. It's all my fault."

"Vi."

The calm of his voice shocked her into looking at him and he reached up to caress her face, thumb brushing away the tear tracks down her cheeks.

"I would have done that a thousand times to save you. Please don't cry."

She nodded numbly as she placed the last bandage on his chest. As she stood up to put the first aid supplies away, his grip on her hand tightened and she raised her eyes to meet his, hers so full of guilt and his so full of love, unconditional love, that her tears came rushing back.

She threw everything to the floor as she swooped down to kiss him.

* * *

A/N: Reviews make me so happy!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: It's getting to the end, kids!

_**Own Me**_

The feeling of his mouth on hers again, for real this time, no teasing brushes or little feather touches like in the living room long ago, but a full press of her soft lips to his chapped and bitten ones, was pure heaven, pure bliss, ecstasy, a perfect high that could never be duplicated by cutting or pills or drugs, a rush not unlike but so much more potent than when your stomach drops on a rollercoaster or jumping out of a plane, nothing but air supporting you and nothing but a parachute hopefully saving you from death.

She didn't even care about the hydrogen peroxide spilling on the floor or the cotton balls scattering around her rug. She didn't give a fuck about what her mother or father would think, and she especially didn't give a shit about what the other ghosts would undoubtedly gossip and whisper about her because news travels really fast when upwards of twenty ghosts live in the same house for 364 days a year. None of that mattered. All she cared about as she rapidly swung her leg over him to straddle his waist was getting as close to him as possible as fast as possible.

He moaned at their sudden contact, a harsh, guttural sound that made her shiver, and she greedily drank it up as she bit his lip gently, coaxing him into opening his mouth so she could slip her tongue inside. She fed her small fingers through his mop of blonde curls, pulling on them and digging her nails into his scalp just enough to elicit a low, deep hiss from him, which made her thighs clench.

She could feel his hands slip up to her hips, gripping them tightly, as they kissed like a starving man would eat at a feast – hungrily, ravenously, insatiably, and it was so erotic, so heady from the intense buildup of anticipation from all those days and especially all those endless, lonely nights, so intoxicating from their pent-up longing and long simmering sexual tension finally, _finally_ being explosively released all at once that she could feel herself already getting slick between her legs.

Suddenly, she felt his hands pushing her face away from his, and she felt her heart and stomach plummet as she found herself staring into his eyes ablaze with lust, alarm, and panic.

Oh no.

"Vi."

The way he said her name, the way his eyes were searching hers, it was as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on her, her lust drunken haze raised like steam from a warm bath or a curtain at the beginning of a show. She quickly scrambled off of him, almost running to where the now empty brown bottle was, gathering it and her hastily flung medical supplies up into her arms while focusing intently on avoiding eye contact, because why else would he push her away if not to reject her, punish her for the heartbreak and cockteasing she had put him through for so long, finally indulge in his own bit of revenge?

God, how could she have been so stupid?

"Vi, wait –"

She quickly stood up, back ramrod straight and shoulders tense, arms shaking around her first aid kit, and she hoped to God her dress wasn't too wrinkled because then she would really have to face the fact that she had literally jumped him and that he threw it right back in her face.

She _will not_ cry. Not now.

"No, I understand, you don't have to explain. I'm sorry."

No, she doesn't fucking understand. She doesn't understand any of it.

Yes, he should explain, right this fucking second, because she doesn't understand, she's embarrassed and confused, but when he says nothing, she doesn't intend to wait and wallow in her misery while he figures out his answer or gets up the guts to say it to her.

And is she sorry? She doesn't know.

She was surprised how relatively firm and calm her voice sounded, but she knew that she was a second away from snapping and that as soon as he started giving his reasons why he didn't want to touch her, she would break. She took a deep breath, steadying herself for the hardest part, just a little bit longer, hold on, be strong.

"Bye, Tate."

This time she heard the quiver in her voice and felt a single tear slide down her cheek.

"No, Vi –"

But she was already gone.

* * *

She had been hiding out in the attic for days now, maybe even a week, but she didn't want anyone to find her with her eyes puffy from crying, not when she was supposed to be the fierce girl, the strong spirit that Constance said was the reason Tate was so taken with her. She especially didn't want Tate to see her like this, all weak and sad and broken like one of her doll heads, and though she knew he usually watched her, she hadn't felt his presence, and she didn't know if that was because he was respecting her privacy for once or because of something else she did not want to think about.

"Play?"

She started slightly as Beau's voice cut through the still, quiet, dust-filled air. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she had not realized that he had materialized and was holding his ball out to her until he was right in front of her. She lifted her head from its resting place on her knees to get him a proper look. Although Beau was definitely far from normal physically, she didn't think she knew anyone with a heart as pure and innocent as his. It sickened her thinking of Larry killing him, that ugly man who frightened her at the door. Beau didn't deserve any of the shitty hand he got in life. It was always the ones who deserved the hatred of others the most who seemed to escape scorn and retribution.

"Play!"

She gave him a little smile as she took the ball from him, twirling it in her fingers.

"Alright, I'll play."

He clapped his hands once, then twice, and then reached out to place them on her knees.

"Pretty."

She looked at him questioningly. She never thought she was a beauty queen even in life, and she definitely didn't think she looked pretty with her hair dirty and nose runny. He cocked his head and patted her knees once more.

"Sad."

With just that one word, her treacherous tears suddenly rose to the surface with a vengeance, and she hastily wiped them away.

"Yes, Beau. I am sad."

"Don't."

She couldn't possibly explain to him why she was sad, and how utterly impossible it would be for her to follow his simple, heartfelt instruction. Oh, how she wanted to!

She untangled her legs, swinging them behind her so she could kneel, and placed a soft, light kiss on his cheek before wrapping her arms around him in a big hug, whispering her next words into his shoulder before pulling away.

"I won't be sad, for you."

He reached up to touch where she had kissed him, and she loved the twinkle he had in his eyes because he thought that she was now happy, magically cured, and she desperately wished it was as easy for her as it was for him, to just forget or let go of all the painful emotions and memories and just be in the moment, appreciating the beauty of the present with no taint of the past.

"Let's play, Beau. I'll go first."

As he scurried back a little ways so that she could roll the ball to him, she couldn't help but be jealous of him.

* * *

A/N: Poor Violet! Reviews make my life!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm already working on some other stuff, so keep an eye out. And I am so excited – I have chosen a lab for my doctoral work! I will be studying herpesviruses, mainly focusing on vaccine development for herpes simplex type 1 and 2. Thank you all for being so supportive.

_**Own Me**_

She didn't know how long she had locked herself away – time doesn't really matter to any of them anymore, it has no meaning when it has no end in sight. As much as she wanted to stay there, hidden away like a princess would be from an evil dragon or by a jealous stepmother, she knew that it would be the coward's way out and she is anything but a coward. She refused to be weak in life, and in death, she had even fewer reasons to justify being afraid. So she tried to soak up as many of her tears as she could before she reentered the snake pit.

It didn't take long before one of the vipers struck.

"Why, there she is."

She sighed. She should have known she would be targeted by the most vindictive soul in the house, because misery loves company and she was the best dinner guest to fill the bill – or just maybe dinner, with this ghost. She hasn't forgotten the time she almost threw her to her second death.

"What do you want, Hayden?"

"Just to torment you. Oh, boo hoo hoo, my little boyfriend rejected me, whatever shall I do? It's so fun seeing you cry."

"Like you should talk."

"Ah, the kitten has retained her claws."

"Just leave, Hayden, I'm too tired to deal with you right now."

"God, you're pathetic. And fucking stupid."

Alright, now she was getting pissed.

"Shut up! You know nothing about me or what happened."

"Oh, come on, you think you're the only one with love problems? I can make a good guess as to what happened considering you were a goddamn hermit in the attic for like, two weeks. And I know what you're thinking. And I'm just here to tell you you're wrong."

"And why should I listen to you?"

"Because you know we're not that much different, as much as you hate to admit it."

Violet looked at her suspiciously until Hayden gave a sigh of exasperation.

"Alright, look, yes, I know I've been a bitch to you. Several times."

Violet raised one eyebrow.

"Alright, multiple times. You have every reason not to trust me. I fucked up your family. I was the reason you moved out here to this godforsaken house and got into this mess. I tried to kill you a couple of times. I get it. But you need to know, at least for the sake of my sanity not to be threatened by your and his combined moping, that he loves you. He told me that he'd wait for forever, if he had to. So whatever happened, what you're thinking right now, which I can guarantee is that he no longer cares about you, it's wrong, alright? That boy, as fucking crazy and volatile as he is, will always be completely mad about you. That is the one constant I would count on with him."

She turned around to walk away, but hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at Violet, who knew her mouth was slightly hanging open at this sudden, if a bit begrudged, change of heart.

"You're really lucky, you know. Maybe that's why I've been so horrid to you. I'm jealous, because I would kill to have Ben love me like Tate loves you."

Hayden disappeared, leaving her in the hallway both sad and confused.

* * *

She hadn't really encountered any other ghosts besides Hayden in the next few days, and the silence and solitude was both a blessing and a curse, but she knew the silence wouldn't last much longer. She was in her room, their room, really, going through the bird book that he had checked out so long ago when she felt his presence.

"I like birds, too."

She turned another page.

Turtle dove.

The symbol of everlasting and faithful love.

"I already knew that."

"Yes, you did. I told you that a long time ago."

She looked up at him, trying so, _so_ hard not to cry when she asked him her next question.

"So why are you telling me this again?"

"Because I want you to remember the first time I told you this."

Of course, she remembered, it was the first time he told her he loved her. But before she could bite out her response, he continued.

"And I want you to know that nothing has changed since then, or will ever change. Because I love you, I always have, always will."

She couldn't take it, the sharp, stinging contrast of what he was saying, oh, the sweet things he was saying to her, everything she still wanted to hear even after all that happened, and the hurt from his rejection, a wound she had tried to scab over as best she could, now ripped back open and bleeding.

"You're so full of shit."

She slammed the book shut, not caring if she crinkled the page of the innocent turtledove, and got off the bed, preparing to rush by him, but he was too fast for her and he caught her arm, spinning her into his tight embrace and forcing her chin up so she would look him in the eyes. She tried to squirm out of his arms, but she knew it was fruitless, but she had to do something, anything, to show him that she wasn't giving in, that she wouldn't just forgive him like that for wounding her heart and ego so deeply.

"You know that's not true."

She could feel the tears, damn it, brought on by his soothing voice and Hayden's words from before, but at this point she was both so upset and angry that she didn't care.

"You know what, Tate? I don't know what is true anymore."

She tried to punch him in the chest with her little fists, but his arms held her so close she couldn't get the right angle and leverage to deliver the blows, which just made her even more upset that he was thwarting even this, her desperate attempt to at least assuage her broken heart.

"You have the fucking nerve to tell me you love me after you literally pushed me off of you when I was kissing you. Yeah, because rejecting me like that really conveys your love and devotion. Screw you. Get off of me!"

She resumed her struggling, trying even to step on his feet, but he cleverly avoided her attempts, causing her to scream out in frustration.

"Vi, stop."

"No! Let go of me!"

"Vi…"

The tone of his voice, so filled with love that she couldn't miss it even if she tried, the press of his hand against her lower back, the tender way he was holding her now, how could she miss it? She could feel the anger starting to leave her, only to be replaced by despair, and she tried desperately to hang on to the anger to give her strength, because the only thing worse than anger is misery.

"No…you bastard."

She felt a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Shh, Vi, I got you. It's okay."

His hand stroking her hair, his lips by her ear, made the last of the anger drain out of her, and he followed her slow fall to floor, tears now coming down her face like miniature waterfalls.

"How could you do that to me? How, Tate?"

"It was because I loved you that I stopped you."

He kissed her eyelids and wiped away the tears with his thumb before continuing.

"I didn't want you to do anything you would later regret. I wanted you to kiss me because you really wanted to, not because you were caught up in the moment or felt that you had to, because I saved you. I wanted it to be sincere, no regrets, no tears after, just us being happy. I just want you to be happy, Vi. That's all I want."

She didn't know what to say, she just looked up at him with as many questions as tears were in her eyes. He didn't seem surprised or perturbed by her silence, however, and just kept gazing at her like she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen, and she couldn't stop Hayden's words from going through her head.

That boy, as fucking crazy and volatile as he is, will always be completely mad about you.

"I know my request now."

She was confused for a moment, but then she remembered the hide-and-seek game they had played where she promised him one request.

"What is it?"

It was almost inaudible, a breath of a whisper, but he heard her, and tightened his hold on her, peppering the top of her head with kisses.

"The next time you kiss me, if there is a next time, I want it to be real. I want it to be because you love me and want to be with me. I want it to be because you really want me, forever. That's the only way I can kiss you, Vi, and I want you to kiss me only if you truly feel the same way."

She could only nod her assent because she didn't trust herself not to be overcome by emotion.

He smiled at her as she asked him her next question.

"But can I ask you to hold me? Just for now?"

"However long you'll let me."

And she stayed there with him until the sun had set.

* * *

A/N: AWWWW! Reviews make this grad student smile!


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: I'm so sorry I suck. I just have been so busy – and these past weeks have been really tough, work and otherwise – so I just didn't have the time, energy, or inspiration to write. But I'm back now. Here is the final chapter!

_**Own Me**_

It had been a few weeks since his part-apology, part-request, and she literally could not take much more of anything, really. She felt like she was being split in two by her own self, one part selfishly crying out to her hopeless romantic side, pleading with her to go back to his arms because who was she kidding, she is still so completely in love with him, and the other part nobly appealing to her stubborn, righteous side, sternly schooling her not to go back, because she is not a person who would never compromise her morals and sense of justice and he deserves to suffer for what he did. As soon as she felt that one side was finally winning out, something would happen – an innocent board game, a meaningful look, a cry from her forever baby brother, a loud spat between her parents – and the other side would make a hell of a comeback, and she was back to square one. She felt twice-paralyzed, in her own personal limbo within the stasis of the house. She felt like she was drowning in the sea despite swimming as fast as she could.

She knew her inner battle couldn't wage for much longer, that she would have to make a decision soon, but such turmoil always crescendos before it finally peters out. She wasn't sure who she would find fallen on the battlefield.

All she knew was at night, when she dreamed of her war torn heart, the victor always had blonde hair and dark eyes.

* * *

"Want to play cards outside with me? I even made some lemonade."

"Okay."

She huffed a little sigh as she closed her book and stood up from the couch. It was a beautiful day out, and Constance and Michael were gone – she saw them leave early this morning with a bunch of suitcases, probably going on some long vacation because Michael killed a family dog or something like that and it wouldn't be good to have people digging around in the mountain that was the Langdon family's dirty laundry – so she didn't have to worry about either of them showing up unannounced and uninvited. She stretched her back, and a spasm near her right shoulder made her cry out sharply. She immediately felt his hand on her arm and when she looked up, she found eyes full of worry looking back at her and she felt like someone had punched her in the gut and the wind had been knocked out of her.

She could feel her inner battle wage just a bit harder in his favor, his obvious love and tenderness slaying another soldier of her righteous side.

"Are you okay? Vi?"

She brushed off his hand, determined not to let him know how much this small gesture affected her.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine – OW!"

Another spasm ripped down her back, forcing her to collapse back onto the couch, and she wondered if this pain was the physical manifestation of her battle, brought on by the closeness of one of the generals, the black king confronting the white at the end of the chess game.

"Vi!"

She could feel the couch sag under his weight, and she mustered the strength to give him a small smile to try to calm him down.

"I'm okay. It's nothing, just a spasm."

"But you cried out."

"It just took me by surprise, that's all."

Suddenly she felt herself being gently pulled onto his lap and his hands rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders and she almost moaned from how good it felt, and she at least had the decency to acknowledge to herself that the almost-moan wasn't just from the massage.

She could almost hear her selfish side whispering in her ear, coaxing her to give in.

See, this is what you're denying yourself. And for what? Some perverted sense of loyalty to a family that you despised even before all this happened? Chad was and is still right. Stop being a martyr. You want this. You want him. Take it. It's yours. He is yours.

"I just hate that you're in pain. I don't want you to ever feel pain. I swore I would protect you from it."

She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder, melting into his chest as he rubbed the tenseness out of her muscles.

"Some may argue that pain is what makes a person who he or she is, that pain defines us and creates our innermost being."

"That's true. I defined myself that way for a long time. Before I met you, pain was all I knew. It consumed me. But that's not how I define myself anymore."

"It's not?"

His lips pressed a light kiss on her collarbone, and she shivered under his still-kneading hands.

"No."

The way he said that single syllable made her stomach feel like a cage of butterflies had been released, and they were all flapping away madly, trying desperately to find a way out of their acidic prison.

She couldn't help asking her next question even though she already knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it, oh how she wanted to hear him say it.

"How do you define yourself now?"

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she could feel her righteous side lose even more ground, still struggling to put up one last desperate fight even as her toes curled when his lips hovered over the pressure point on her neck that he still knew drove her wild.

"I think you already know."

She couldn't breathe because this was it. This moment was the point of no return, the final stand, and she knew which side would win.

Who was she kidding?

She had always known which side would win.

"Maybe I just want to hear you say it."

She wiggled so his arms would loosen enough so she could turn around and face him. He reached out to caress her face and tuck her hair behind her ear, and the entire moment was just so full of love and sweetness she could feel the tears spilling over.

This was it. The end to her self-inflicted torment, the end of the soul-crushing battle that had been raging since she sent him away that night long ago, the end of her self-imposed martyrdom.

"Love. Love for you outweighs all the pain I've ever felt. You have replaced my pain with the only thing stronger than it. My love for you defines me now."

The battle was over, and the victor was exactly as she had seen in her dreams. She has chosen the boy with the blonde hair and the dark eyes.

She leaned down to give him a kiss, and as she came closer, she answered the question she knew was about to tumble from his lips.

"I remember what you asked me, Tate. That I would only kiss you if it meant I wanted to be with you forever. I mean forever this time."

His arms tightened around her hips this time, pulling her even closer to him.

"I hope you really, really mean that, because I will never let you go again."

"You'll never have to."

She pressed her soft lips to his bitten ones, and his fingers clasped onto her harder, as if he didn't want to risk her suddenly disappearing despite her contradicting words. He looked earnestly into her eyes when she pulled away slightly.

"You own my very soul, Vi. I love you."

This time, she had no problem admitting what she had always known to be true.

"You own mine. You will always own mine."

* * *

A/N: The end! Reviews make me happy.


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